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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437637">these boots are made for walkin’</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101'>kopycat_101</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable Marc Anciel, Art Club, Art teacher is named Mr. Carracci, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Background Femslash, Banter, Bisexual Disaster Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Blushing, Boys Kissing, Canon Jewish Character, Crushes, Cute Kids, Dirty Jokes, Dorks in Love, Everyone Knows about Marc's crush on Nathaniel, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gay Disaster Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Gay Panic, Getting Together, I am once again making the art teacher the best teacher, Idiots in Love, Innuendo, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Marc Anciel has Two Moms and he loves them dearly, Middle School, Mutual Pining, Nathaniel Thirsts for half the story, Nathaniel and Alix are Childhood Best Friends, Original Character(s), Pining, Rated T for teenagers making dirty jokes, Romantic Fluff, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Self-Doubt, Slash, Supportive Teachers, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, The entire Art Club Wingman the the absolute Hell out of these boys, This here is Art Club Loving Hours, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wingman Alix Kubdel, Wingman Marinette Dupain-Cheng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:15:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc decides to go to school wearing an outfit that includes thigh-high boots. Pretty much everyone is sniped on sight.</p><p>Nathaniel may or may not have a bisexual crisis on his hands, as the realization dawns that he’s had a crush on Marc for a while now.</p><p>Will these two actually talk things out, or will Marc accidentally walk all over Nathaniel’s heart…?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alix Kubdel &amp; Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Art Teacher (Miraculous Ladybug) &amp; Everyone, Aurore Beauréal &amp; Mireille Caquet, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Marc Anciel &amp; Alix Kubdel &amp; Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel &amp; Jean Duparc, Marc Anciel &amp; Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marc Anciel &amp; Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel &amp; Original Anciel Character(s), Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Original Male Character(s) (one-sided)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MarcNath Fics!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>these boots are made for walkin’</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had this cute little idea pop into my head, and of course it soon became this monster of a fic... As per usual.</p><p>Considering we know nothing about what class Marc is even in, I just tossed him into Mendeleiev's with Aurore, Mirelle, Jean, and some OCs, and called it a day.</p><p>I also based an OC off the boy that Nathaniel fights for five seconds in Zombizou. I named him Louis de Grammont. Here's the screenshot for that:<br/>https://miraculousladybug.fandom.com/wiki/Zombizou/Gallery?file=Zombizou_(10).png</p><p>Marc's outfit (featuring The Thigh High Boots) via this vintage punk photo: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e7/56/8f/e7568fb9eaf33c3792d54f290858eddb.jpg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>“Hey, kiddo, can you c’mere…?” Mom asks, popping her head in Marc’s room while he was on a break from writing, furiously texting Nathaniel.</p><p> </p><p>Marc blinks, looking up at his Mom. “Oh, sure! D’you need something?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting rid of some old stuff,” the woman says, leaning against the doorframe and jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “If you want any of it, you can take it. The rest’ll go to the charity shop as a donation.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc perks up in interest. Him and Mom shared a lot of interest in the same things, just in general and aesthetic-wise. If she’s getting rid of some stuff, there’ll probably be some interesting bits in there that he’d like to keep…</p><p> </p><p>“Okay!” he nods, sending his friend-slash-crush a quick ‘brb’ text, before standing and walking over to his mother. “So, what’re you getting rid of?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, why don’t I show you?” his Mom grins, tossing an arm around his shoulders to lead him down the hallway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc riffles through the boxes scattered about the floor, unearthing interesting knick-knacks he’d liked to keep in his own room, and a few old band t-shirts he could repurpose.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, in his search, Marc unearths a pair of boots. He takes them out to inspect. They’re black, and long, longer than knee-high boots. And it looks like they’re some sort of rubber or plastic.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, I like these…” he mutters, noting the pointed toe and thin, stiletto heel.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yes, my lesbian pirate boots. They’ve served me well in many a Halloween costume,” Mom pipes up, sitting on her and Mama’s bed, watching him with obvious fond amusement. “They’re nines, so they might fit you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Lemme see!” Marc chirps, toeing off his slippers and sitting down, quick to try and put a boot on.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a bit of finagling and wiggling, but he manages to put the left one on. The boots end up reaching all the way up to his mid-thigh, and he wiggles his toes. They fit perfectly, snug on his foot.</p><p> </p><p>“It fits!” he announces to his Mom brightly, carefully crouching and grabbing onto the bed to stand. The heel itself of the boots isn’t too tall—maybe two or three inches—so they’re not hard to step in.</p><p> </p><p>He starts to walk around a small space of the bedroom, feeling like a pirate with a peg leg. But, like, in a good way. Every time he steps with the boot, it makes a little ‘clack’ noise, and his other foot lifts clear off the ground.</p><p> </p><p>It feels cool. He feels…<em>powerful</em>, almost.</p><p> </p><p>“Mom, can I really keep these?” he asks her, just to double-check, as he turns to look at her. “I don’t even know why you’re getting rid of them, they’re so <em>cool</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>His Mom bursts into laughter, loud and warm. “Ha! Those boots are from ’98! They’re older than you are, kid!”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t stop them from being cool…!” he points out with a giggle.</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, they’re old and literally gathering dust, and I haven’t worn them in years,” she shrugs, adjusting her glasses. “If you want ‘em, you’ll have to clean ‘em properly first. But other than that, go for it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m gonna clean them and wear them tomorrow, then!” Marc declares, beaming back at her, clenching his fists and placing them on his hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you…?” she asks, raising a brow as she chuckles. “Gonna make a fashion statement, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m not wearing them with my usual clothes. I’ve got a perfect outfit in mind…!” he declares, mind whirring. He feels his excitement build at the prospect of making one of his favorite aesthetics come to life. “I’ll get it ready now, actually!”</p><p> </p><p>“You do that, kiddo,” Mom says, warmly amused, as Marc sits on the bed and takes the boot off with a bit of wiggling. “Just take the rest of the stuff you want with you to your room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Got it!” he nods, quick to toe his slippers on, gathering the pile of things in his arms, crouching to snag the boots as well. “Thanks, Mom!”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, it’s nothing,” she chuckles. He beams back at her, before shuffling out of her room.</p><p> </p><p>And nearly runs into his Mama on his way out. “Oh…! What’ve you got there?” Mama Carmen asks him kindly, smiling bemusedly at him juggling so much in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Mom’s getting rid of some stuff, and she said I could keep what I wanted,” Marc explains, sputtering as his Mama automatically grabs the pile of stuff out of his arms. “M-Mama, you don’t have to help—”</p><p> </p><p>“You looked like you were going to drop everything, <em>mijo</em>,” Mama giggles, moving towards his room. Marc scrambles after her, totally-not-pouting as he clutches to the pilfered boots in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Mamaaaa, I was doing okay…!” he insists, but smiles at her anyways when she sets the things down on his bed. “<em>Gracias</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>De nada, mijo</em>,” Mama tells him warmly, patting his cheek. “Now, do you need a rag to clean those shoes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, please.”</p><p> </p><p>“Let me find you one, then.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc beams at his sparkly-clean boots.</p><p> </p><p>After wiping them down of dust and scrubbing the soles to get rid of some residual muck, the boots looked pretty good! There was a little bit of wear visible on them, but then again, they <em>were</em> old. Over twenty years old, in fact! So some wear was only logical.</p><p> </p><p>But other than that, they looked nice. And definitely ready to pair with the outfit he was considering.</p><p> </p><p>Marc giggles to himself. He’s always wanted a pair of thigh high boots, but wasn’t sure how to go about buying some. Now, he has some!</p><p> </p><p>He can’t <em>wait</em> to wear them tomorrow…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc feels powerful as he walks into Dupont, the heels of his boots clicking on the shiny linoleum with every step.</p><p> </p><p>There’s just something about wearing heels that makes him stand up straight and walk with purpose. It’s doing a great number in boosting his confidence, actually.</p><p> </p><p>He walks into Ms. Mendeleiev’s Homeroom, on the route towards his seat at the back, as is usual. Except he pauses as all his classmates turn to stare at him. Some of them even have their jaws hanging open.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Marc</em>!” Aurore shrieks, launching up from her window seat at the very back and literally jumping down the stairs to get to him. “Oh my God, you look <em>amazing</em>! One hundred percent amazing!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh…! Th-thanks, Aurore,” Marc grins back at her. Instead of hunching in on himself in embarrassment, his boots give him enough courage to keep his straight posture.</p><p> </p><p>Aurore latches onto one of his wrists and all but drags him towards her and Mirelle’s desk in the back corner. Marc follows her, making sure he doesn’t trip in his boots up the stairs. He carefully sets his bag down on the desk he shares with Jean, in the back of the middle row.</p><p> </p><p>Both Jean and Mirelle are gaping at him, bug-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>He feels a hand clamp on his shoulder. He looks up, blinking at the surprisingly intent expression on Aurore’s face. “Marc, I am one hundred percent a lesbian,” the blonde girl states, with upmost seriousness, “but your outfit makes you look incredibly hot. Like, ninety-eight degrees heat-wave type of hot.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc feels a bead of nervous sweat slide down the back of his neck. “Th…thanks…?” he says, cautiously bemused.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to look at Mirelle and Jean. The two of them are still staring at him; Mirelle’s pink in the face.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, dude,” Jean nods, finally speaking, apparently getting over his shock. “I’m straight, but like. Your outfit? Absolutely killer today. Ten out of ten.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if even my straight friend says it’s a good outfit, I suppose it’s true,” Marc says a little jokingly, with a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>“B…Boots?” Mirelle squeaks. Marc turns his gaze to her, watching as the Asian’s amber eyes dart from Marc’s face down to his thigh-high boots. “W-When did you even <em>get</em> those…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Yeah, I got these from my Mom. She was gonna get rid of them otherwise,” he shrugs, hooking a thumb in the pocket of his skinny jeans and turning his leg this way and that to show his friends the boots from different angles. “Had to clean them first, but I think I did decently?”</p><p> </p><p>“So they’re vintage! Nice,” Aurore nods enthusiastically, passing a long look up and down Marc to take in his entire outfit. “Very well-coordinated too!”</p><p> </p><p>“Just thought to change things up a bit,” Marc says modestly, toying with his choker, which was switched out from his usual one. This one had a cross on it, to match the metal bits on his leather jacket and chains on his jeans.</p><p> </p><p>He glances across the classroom, noting that most of the class were twisted in their seats, watching him. When they realize he’s caught them in the action, half of them instantly whip back around. Kasper—the quiet transfer student—simply squeaks and ducks his head when he’s noticed, face red.</p><p> </p><p>Juste—the big bully of their class—locks eyes with Marc. And then <em>blushes</em>, darting his gaze away.</p><p> </p><p>Marc feels incredibly baffled and confused, as everyone pretends that they hadn’t been staring straight at him. Or technically staring <em>gay</em> at him, since apparently his classmates weren’t as heterosexual at first glance as he’d thought.</p><p> </p><p>Huh. Marc blinks, considering this, as he sinks into his seat.</p><p> </p><p>Interesting…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc soon finds one drawback of wearing rubber thigh-high boots: It’s pretty much impossible for him to sit down in his usual spot, under the stairs, when it’s lunchtime.</p><p> </p><p>The boots are the peak of fashion. But they also don’t allow him to position his legs comfortably.</p><p> </p><p>With a small sigh, Marc shifts onto his knees, then carefully raises himself back on his feet, mindful of his heels. He takes his notebook and pen with him, as he walks up the staircase and plops down on the top step, stretching his legs out.</p><p> </p><p>“Marc…! Hey there!” a familiar voice chirps.</p><p> </p><p>Marc blinks, as Marinette stumbles her way up the stairs towards him, beaming. “Oh my gosh, you look <em>amazing</em> today!” the half-Chinese girl gushes. “I’m loving those boots on you! It’s a good look.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc flushes, pleased, as Marinette outstretches two thumbs-up at him. “Thanks, Marinette,” he says, fiddling with the cross on his choker. “You really think so?”</p><p> </p><p>“Marc, as a future fashion designer, I’m telling you right now that you’re rocking the aesthetic,” she nods, giving him cheesy finger guns. “You’re gonna blow your crush away…!”</p><p> </p><p>The boy squeaks, his cheeks heating. “Wh-who said a-anything a-about Nath?” he stutters out.</p><p> </p><p>Marinette grins back at him like the cat that got the cream. “Oh? I never mentioned Nathaniel by name…”</p><p> </p><p>Marc freezes, his face feeling like it’s literally on fire. Marinette giggles, patting him gently on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Either way, I’m sure he’ll <em>really</em> like your outfit,” she says in a stage whisper, giving him a big wink. Before he can say anything on the contrary, the pigtail-wearing girl is already walking back down the stairs. “See ya later at Art Club…!”</p><p> </p><p>All Marc can do is wave at his friend and fellow club member goodbye, his cheeks still heated in a blush.</p><p> </p><p>So much for his boots giving him confidence…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nathaniel is minding his own business, sitting at his usual seat at lunch with his friends, enjoying their company and conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“…And then Luka said that Juleka’s a genius for figuring out the problem with the new speakers!” Rose regales the rest of the group at the table, blue eyes sparkling as she gushes about her girlfriend.</p><p> </p><p>“That was quite clever thinking!” Max praises, adjusting his glasses.</p><p> </p><p>“I-It wasn’t a big deal…” Juleka mutters, pink-cheeked and pleased. “All I did was double-check the manual…”</p><p> </p><p>“Not many people think to use the most obvious solution,” the dark-skinned tech junkie points out.</p><p> </p><p>“Juleka—we wouldn’t have been able to practice without you!” Rose insists, giggling as she hugs Juleka’s arm. “You were our hero!”</p><p> </p><p>Juleka splutters, ducking her head. The rest of the table laugh along, finding the goth girl getting so flustered around her tiny girlfriend to be absolutely <em>adorable</em>. Those two really are made for one another.</p><p> </p><p>So, Nathaniel’s having a good time… right up until his art nemesis stomps up to him.</p><p> </p><p>The redhead narrows his eyes at the pompous boy, instantly on high alert.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want, de Grammont?” he asks curtly, eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>The other boy raises a platinum-blond brow at Nathaniel, while the rest of the table subtly shifts to squint over at him. Alix in particular looks ready to jump up and throw hands at any provocation, and Kim straightens in his seat, obviously trying to make his bulky build look more intimidating.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, what d'ya want?" Kim parrots darkly.</p><p> </p><p>“Your hospitality is astounding, truly,” Louis de Grammont drawls, eyes darting away, before meeting Nathaniel's gaze again. “I’m honestly surprised you’re not at Anciel’s side, right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t like eating lunch in the cafeteria. So don’t go bothering him,” Nathaniel warns, setting his jaw and straightening in his seat, glaring venomously at his rival.</p><p> </p><p>The other boy holds up a hand. “I’m not going to bother him. I’m just…wondering. Have you seen him today at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t share any classes,” the redhead replies flatly. The fact that at Dupont he only sees his friend and partner at lunch sometimes, or study hall, or at Art Club, still rankles him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>that</em> explains some things…” de Grammont sighs, running a hand through his perfectly-coifed hair which was. Odd. He only did that when he was stressed or flustered. He drops his hand, meeting Nathaniel’s gaze. “Kurtzberg. I’m warning you because I respect you, but I will only warn you once—”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you threatening me?” Nathaniel demands, hackles raised, only to watch as the other boy throws his hands up in exasperation.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>! Not everything has to be a fight between us!” And then the blond boy runs a hand through his hair again, muttering under his breath, before clapping his hands together. “Look. If you don’t make a move, someone is going to steal Anciel away from right under your nose. That someone could even be me, if I play my cards right—”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s blood boils at the threat against Marc. He stands from his seat, slamming his hands on the table, as he roars out, “You’re <em>not</em> taking him from me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you even hear yourself?!” de Grammont demands, gesturing to the lunchroom at large. “You’re causing a scene here, you <em>do</em> realize that, right…?”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel freezes in place. Slowly, he shifts his gaze from glaring at his rival, to peer across the lunchroom at large. People in the tables around his are staring in fascination, like they’re tuned in to a soap opera. He has the attention of what seems to be a solid fourth of the entire room. Oh hell.</p><p> </p><p>“Kubdel, <em>please</em> wrangle your best friend,” the pompous blond sighs. “And help his oblivious ass. He’s going to need it.”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel sputters, “H-Hey, what does <em>that</em> mean…?!”</p><p> </p><p>But de Grammont doesn’t spare a second glance, walking away, leaving Nathaniel frustrated and confused. Which isn’t exactly a new thing, considering the history with him and the painter, but this time the confusion wins out big time.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, Nath,” Alix says, standing from her seat and looking pensively at de Grammont’s retreating back. “Let’s go see what mister prissy-pants painter is talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>All Nathaniel can do is follow along, keeping up with Alix so she doesn’t yank his arm from his socket, heading out of the cafeteria. It’s a good thing he’s already eaten his lunch, he supposes…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Oh. So <em>this</em> is what de Grammont meant, then.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s eyes lock on Marc’s form. Marc, who’s sitting at the top of the staircase he usually sits <em>under</em> to write.</p><p> </p><p>That’s not the only change, however. Marc isn’t wearing his usual outfit. Instead, he’s wearing a leather jacket, a red tank top, black skinny jeans, and black boots.</p><p> </p><p>But they’re not the typical boots he wears, that vary in length from being ankle boots, to shin boots, to knee boots. No, they’re much different.</p><p> </p><p>Marc already rocks wearing knee-high combat boots. But these new boots he’s wearing are pointed at the toes and are <em>heeled</em>. And they land on his mid-thigh.</p><p> </p><p>Marc Anciel is wearing heeled thigh-high boots, and they look <em>unfairly</em> good on him. Like, <em>criminally</em> good. Like, <em>so-good-Nathaniel’s-having-a-crisis</em> type of good.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel lets out a wheeze, the breath feeling like it’s been punched from his lungs. He scrambles in placing a hand on Alix’s shoulder, clutching at her, because his knees suddenly feel like jelly.</p><p> </p><p>Holy <em>shit</em>, does Marc look hot as hell. “<em>Fuck</em>, I’m so bi,” he mutters breathlessly to Alix, dazed beyond belief.</p><p> </p><p>Alix lets out a low whistle. “Well, would you look at that. Looks like the boy’s done a full one-eighty.”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel gulps, rather loudly, his face feeling like it’s on fire.</p><p> </p><p>“Alix…” he whispers to her waveringly, unable to wrench his gaze from the leather-clad deity perched on top of the stairs. Even the sunlight streaming in from the high windows decides to alight Marc’s gorgeous form, making him look like an angel. Or a devil in disguise, ready to seduce and lure anyone into sweet sin. “Al, has Marc <em>always</em> been this hot, o-or is it the boots talking?”</p><p> </p><p>Alix snorts violently. “Oh my <em>God</em>, Nath—”</p><p> </p><p>“N-No, listen,” he insists in a hiss, pulling Alix aside to hide behind a column. “Listen, i-it’s just…”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re drooling a little there, champ.”</p><p> </p><p>“N-No I’m not!” He glares over at his traitor of a best friend—who looks back at him with a smug knowingness— before his gaze is drawn back to Marc. He finds himself quickly wetting his lips. “<em>Listen</em>. I-I’ve always known he was attractive. I-I mean—I have <em>eyes</em>. B-but just…”</p><p> </p><p>He feels helplessly overwhelmed, his heart thumping staccato. He’s only able to keep on his feet by leaning heavily against the column he was hiding behind, like some sort of swooning maiden. “H-how have I not noticed this <em>before…</em>?” he asks weakly.</p><p> </p><p>“That, my dude, is called pining,” Alix states flatly, slapping him on the shoulder. “And only now has your oblivious, dumb ass noticed that you actually like him and think he’s hot.”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s mind whirs furiously, like an overworked hamster running on a hamster wheel.</p><p> </p><p><em>Has</em> he always liked Marc…? It was hard to tell, before now.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t exactly have many close friends. Much less close male friends. The only one he can think of, aside from Marc, is Alix’s older brother Jalil. Sure, he’s friends <em>now</em> with people like Max and Kim, but that wasn’t always the case. He’s always seemingly been closer friends to girls. Hell, before Marc joined, the Art Club has been an all-female affair barring Nathaniel himself…</p><p> </p><p>Suffice to say, he’s not exactly the greatest at the ‘friend’ schtick. Nor is he particularly knowledgeable of being such close friends with another boy his age.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel considers Alix his best friend by default. They’ve known each other since they were toddlers, and she’s pretty much his sister in all but blood. But if he were to name someone else as his best friend, his instant pick would be Marc.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve only known each other for a few months now, but they <em>clicked</em> in a way he’s never had with anyone else. Sometimes, it feels like he’s known Marc for just as long as he’s known Alix, with the way that Marc <em>gets</em> him.</p><p> </p><p>Spending time with Marc is as easy as breathing, and he’s never felt so happy or peaceful spending time with someone who’s not family to this degree.</p><p> </p><p>There were little things about Marc, too, that always caught Nathaniel’s attention. The way Marc’s green eyes would light up with inspiration. How he smiles crookedly when he’s excited. His unruly hair glinting under the light, looking like raven’s feathers. The way his nose wrinkled when he was wracked by uncontrollable laughter. How he tapped his pen against his pink, plump lips when he didn’t know the exact word he wanted to write down.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh fuck,” Nathaniel whispers, as the realization dawns on him. “Oh <em>fuck</em>, I have a crush on him.”</p><p> </p><p>And from he can tell, it’s been festering for a <em>while</em> now, without his knowledge. How, he’s not sure, but it <em>has</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” Alix drawls. He whips his head to glare at her, only to see her beam excitedly at him like Easter’s come early.</p><p> </p><p>Before he can fight her on it, Alix’s taking his wrist and dragging him out from behind the column, towards the staircase. And definitely intending to take them up the stairs. Nathaniel nearly starts up a cussing storm right then and there, but Alix cuts him off with a quick and loud, “Hey, Marc!”</p><p> </p><p>The words die in his throat, alongside any saliva he still had left, as Marc looks up from the notebook on his lap to smile sweetly at them.</p><p> </p><p>And then Marc stands up.</p><p> </p><p>If it weren’t for Alix marching him forwards, Nathaniel would’ve frozen in place.</p><p> </p><p>With him now standing, it was easier to see the other boy’s outfit. The way the tank top clung to his torso, the leather jacket framing his shoulders, the skinny jeans tucked into his boots.</p><p> </p><p>His <em>thigh-high boots</em>, which made his legs look like they were <em>endless</em>. They were long, and perfectly accentuated by the material.</p><p> </p><p>…Nathaniel was officially fucked.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc meets his two friends halfway down the staircase. “Hey, guys,” he greets, looking between Alix and Nathaniel.</p><p> </p><p>Alix is smiling at him toothily, looking very much excited. Next to her, Nathaniel hunches in on himself, pink in the face and staring down at Marc’s feet. “Loving your outfit, dude. Very aesthetic,” Alix nods at him, nudging her best friend on the shoulder. “Doesn’t his outfit look nice, Nath?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Yeah! I-It’s nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“How can you tell, if you’re not looking at it?” Alix asks with a suspicious amount of innocence.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel makes a strangled noise. Marc watches as the redhead gives a very slow once-over across Marc’s outfit. He feels himself straighten under the scrutiny.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You look. G-good,” Nathaniel says in a squeak, before clearing his throat. “Uh! Cool! Y-You look cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“Th-thanks,” Marc answers, a little breathlessly. He shifts his feet, bringing a hand up to fiddle with his choker.</p><p> </p><p>“So, any specific reason for the new outfit, or…” Alix trails off, sounding curious.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Oh, not really,” he explains with a shrug. “My Mom was getting rid of some stuff, and I found this pair of boots. She let me keep them.”</p><p> </p><p>He shifts again, rotating his left thigh to show off the boot in question. He hears a sputtering wheeze, looking over at Nathaniel in concern, who was clutching the stair’s railing in a knuckle-white grip.</p><p> </p><p>“Mom called them her old lesbian pirate boots, actually. I can only hope I pull them off half a well as she did,” he jokes, grinning at his friends. Alix snorts at him. “Do they look okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, they look great on you!” the short girl agrees with a grin, elbowing the redhead in the side. “Don’t they, Nath?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmmhm,” Nathaniel hums, sounding strained.</p><p> </p><p>“How do you even walk in those? They’re heeled,” Alix asks Marc, gesturing towards the boots in question.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Well, they’re not that hard to walk in, really,” he muses, kicking his feet out and stepping in place, to show them. “Two-and-a-half inch heels aren’t <em>too</em> bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hear that, Nath? Marc can even step in them, no problem.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc squints, confused on why Alix was so adamant to pull Nathaniel into the conversation, when the redhead could barely get a word out.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-Yeah,” Nathaniel says, breathless, “Yeah, h-he can step on me.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a long, awkward pause, as the words sink in. Marc feels his jaw drop.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel squeaks, raising his head to stare back at Marc in pure horror, eyes saucer-wide and face the color of his hair. “I-I mean—bell’s about to ring!” the redhead yelps, eyes wide and wild. “W-w-we should go, a-and step on it, y’know. Boot it—hoof it! S-so we don’t be late! Ahahahaha—"</p><p> </p><p>The redhead laughs, high and hysterical. Then he turns on his heel, and literally runs down the stairs, tripping on the last step and barely catching himself on the railing.</p><p> </p><p>The bell takes that moment to ring.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Nath</em>…!” Alix barks, but Nathaniel doesn’t stop in his aggressive speed-walking away from them, his head ducked down and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. She sighs, crossing her arms and grumbling, “Man, who knew being saved by the bell was an actual thing…?”</p><p> </p><p>“What…What just happened?” Marc asks the pink-haired girl weakly, still in shock. He reaches out a hand to grip on the stair’s railing, just-in-case, his knees feeling a little weak.</p><p> </p><p>The short girl groans, patting his elbow. “Nath decided to have a bisexual crisis. Don’t worry, I’ll talk some sense into him. See you at Art Club.”</p><p> </p><p>“S-See you…?” he agrees, watching as Alix jumped down the stairs and ran after the redhead.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc goes back to class, mind whirring. He can barely pay attention to the lectures, going through on autopilot alone as he takes down notes.</p><p> </p><p>When he wore the thigh-high boots, he didn’t think he’d get such a <em>strong</em> reaction from everyone, much less his crush.</p><p> </p><p>Though…There had been the thought, quick and fleeting, of Nathaniel liking the boots and complimenting him. But that was a less than one percent chance of happening, Marc had reasoned. He’d thought he was just having baseless daydreams again over his massive crush.</p><p> </p><p>But, no. Apparently, those daydreams actually ended up having some basis in reality…</p><p> </p><p>The final bell rings, and Marc blinks, stirring from his reverie. Oh. Had time really flown by that quickly…?</p><p> </p><p>He starts to pack up his things, movements slow and lethargic. When he finishes, he carefully stands from his seat and awkwardly waves goodbye to his three friends-slash-seat mates.</p><p> </p><p>“S-See you guys.”</p><p> </p><p>The three each turn to look at one another, almost knowingly, before turning back to him as one.</p><p> </p><p>“Good luck at Art Club,” Jean starts, grinning crookedly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be…interesting,” Mirelle says, almond eyes crinkled.</p><p> </p><p>“Knock ‘em dead!” Aurore whoops, fist pumping, beaming like the sun. “Getchaself a man!”</p><p> </p><p>Marc flushes. Oh. So they were…cheering him on?</p><p> </p><p>That was…actually pretty sweet. Though a little embarrassing that they knew so well about his crush on Nathaniel, which was a solid seventy-five percent of why he was even <em>in</em> Dupont’s Art Club to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he tells them, genuine and warm, smiling slightly. “Later.”</p><p> </p><p>He turns around and walks down the steps—nearly running into Juste, who was hovering by the front desks. “So, Anciel…” the big, buff bully purred.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever it is, Juste, I’m not interested,” Marc tells him flatly, not stopping as he walks past him with purpose. He only had one thing on his mind: go to the Art Club and talk to Nathaniel. Properly.</p><p> </p><p>Marc exits the class, barely avoiding crashing into someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“S-Sorry!” the other person squeaks. Marc blinks back at a flustered-looking Kasper, the transfer student from Norway that barely speaks because he was nervous about his French.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Sorry about that Kasper. Excuse me,” Marc smiles back at him, carefully stepping around the red-faced boy. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy fidgets, ducking his head, his posture deflating. “S-See you…”</p><p> </p><p>Marc sends a quick wave, mind still completely on his task, making his way down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>Marc is in the clear, until he reaches the hallway the Art Club is on.</p><p> </p><p>Standing leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed, is Louis de Grammont. Who Marc knows as the boy in his AP English class, and better knows as Nathaniel’s supposed ‘art nemesis’. A stuck-up boy whose uncle something-or-else was a famous painter, so he thinks the world of himself and his abilities because of it.</p><p> </p><p>Though, from what Marc has seen of his work, the pompous blond actually has some talent, and isn’t all talk. Even still, he’s constantly clashing with Nathaniel, and has only stopped being outright aggressive in the past few months.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Anciel,” de Grammont drawls, pushing himself off the wall and dropping his crossed arms. “I wondered when you’d get here.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc purses his lips, tightening his grip on his things, cautious. “Um, hello, de Grammont. Is there something you need…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just wondering if Kurtzberg has talked to you yet,” the other says, raising a platinum brow pointedly. “Or if he’d run off like a coward—”</p><p> </p><p>“Nathaniel’s <em>not</em> a coward,” Marc states, protectively loyal, glaring at the blond.</p><p> </p><p>Who rolls his eyes, waving a hand about. “Yes, yes, you adore him. Are you going to finally put him out of his misery?”</p><p> </p><p>Marc stops in place, staring. “W-What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Anciel,” de Grammont starts, in the most exasperated tone possible. “Do us <em>all</em> a favor and either make it official already, or let him down gently.” Marc blinks back at him, stunned. “And do it preferably before his puddle of drool that’s collecting on the Art room’s floor turns into an actual <em>pool</em> of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“U-Uh…Are you…?” Marc wonders, a little confused and freaked out at the sudden turn of events.</p><p> </p><p>The blond strides forwards, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be an absolute <em>moron</em> if he doesn’t accept.” The blond gives a long look from the toes of his boots up to his eyes. “After all, you’re a solid ten.” And then de Grammont is walking away, rounding the corner, leaving a speechless Marc behind.</p><p> </p><p>…Well. <em>That</em> just happened…</p><p> </p><p>Marc lets out a shaky breath, before breathing in and straightening his shoulders. Right. He can’t be distracted.</p><p> </p><p>He’s gotten blessings from not just his friends, but even Nathaniel’s rival. He won’t let them all down…!</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nathaniel manages to avoid Alix with the excuse of classes, but he can’t hide from her forever.</p><p> </p><p>He’s a disaster that won’t get anything done unless she intervenes. Hell, she’s literally been Nathaniel and Marc’s built-in third wheel since the boys started their ‘partnership’. This is the most progress she’s seen since the start of that, and it’s been <em>months</em> now.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not letting this go <em>that</em> easily.</p><p> </p><p>When the final bell rings, Alix pounces, grabbing Nathaniel’s arm before he can slip away unnoticed, as he’s so good at doing.</p><p> </p><p>“Time for Art Club…!” she sing-songs with a sharp grin, dragging her best friend behind her, all but marching him out the door and down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel puts up a token struggle, but he’s both tiny and a complete twig. Even with the height advantage, he can’t wriggle out of her solid hold.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You know, I just—M-Maybe I shouldn’t go—I-I’m starting to feel a little under the weather,” he babbles nervously, literally dragging his heels they get closer and closer to the Art room.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Nath. You’re not getting out of this,” Alix states firmly. “You flirted with Marc, and now you’re going to actually <em>talk</em> to him about it.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“No! Nonono,” Nath says frantically. “If I see him again, he’s going to beat me up for sure!” A pause, then, as Alix turns slightly to eye her best friend, seeing his worried expression go slack and his eyes go glassy. He murmurs, voice thick with lovesickness, “I mean, I’d thank him if he did, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>, Nathaniel!” Alix laughs, shaking her head at the sheer amount of thirst in her best friend. “TMI. Do I have to kinkshame you or—”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel sputters, snapping out of his fantasy, going red up to his ears. “<em>No</em>! Shut <em>up</em>!” he screeches, shoving at her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I’m not the one telling someone to step on me—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>B-Blame the boots, alright</em>,” the redhead hisses at her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m starting to doubt if its just the boots alone,” she drawls, smirking at her best friend. “It might just be the fact that it’s the boots on Marc, specifically, that’s doing you in.”</p><p> </p><p>“…I-It’s true, but you don’t have to say it,” he mutters weakly with a pout.</p><p> </p><p>Alix cackles. Good <em>God</em>, is her best friend a fucking disaster.</p><p> </p><p>But talking about Nathaniel’s Blatant Bisexual Crush is enough to distract the boy from fighting her, and soon enough she’s managed to drag him into the Art Club room and pushes him down at his usual seat.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s finally gotten out of his own head and noticed where he’s at, the look Nathaniel shoots her is one of pure betrayal. “I hate you,” he states, aggrieved. “I really, really do.”</p><p> </p><p>Alix just grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him slightly. “Nah, you’ll thank me later.” She looks up, grinning sharply at the leather-clad boy paused at the door. “Hey, Marc! Nath wants to talk to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Her best friend is too busy making the approximate noise of a boiling teakettle and clutching at the worktable to kill her where she stands.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc pauses at the door of the Art Club room, peering in cautiously. Just as he catches sight of Alix and locks eyes with her, she gives a shark-like grin and calls out, “Hey, Marc! Nath wants to talk to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc’s eyes flicker from Alix, to Nathaniel, who she’s standing behind. Nathaniel makes a high-pitched humming noise, looking like he wants God to strike him down where he sits.</p><p> </p><p>“Up and at ‘em!” Alix says cheerily, literally hauling the redhead up by his arm pits.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I can stand myself!” Nathaniel snaps, shrugging her hold off, half-turning to glare at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Then you better use those legs of yours to stand and walk out the door,” the short girl smirks.</p><p> </p><p>Marc looks between the two best friends, like one might watch a tennis match. Nathaniel glares, pink-faced, while Alix just stands there, looking smug.</p><p> </p><p>“Alix, Nathaniel, there’s no need to fight,” a calm voice intones.</p><p> </p><p>The three look up at the art teacher, who’s gotten up from his seat and walking over to see what the fuss is about.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Carracci smiles kindly and patiently at them, crow’s feet deepening and laugh lines standing out against his face. “You can’t make your friend do something he doesn’t want to, Alix, and that includes using physical force.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Alix says, ducking her head, looking sheepish and chastised.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, if you’d like to sit down and stay, Nathaniel, you can.” The man shifts his gaze to Marc, giving him a knowing look. “Or, you can ask Marc here if he actually needs to speak with you outside.”</p><p> </p><p>The redhead whips his gaze from Mr. Carracci to Marc, his uncovered blue eye wide.</p><p> </p><p>“A-Actually, sir, I-I do need to speak with Nathaniel…” Marc admits, giving a nervous smile and setting his things on their table. “Can we…”</p><p> </p><p>“Go on, then,” Mr. Carracci smiles, nodding, his voice turning casual as he notes, “And if you boys happen to pass by the area of the supply closet where we keep our things, I wouldn’t mind a few extra erasers.”</p><p> </p><p>Wait—was their teacher trying to help set them up too…? Oh, wow. Marc was <em>totally</em> going to vote for Mr. Carracci as Teacher of the Year, he thinks fervently, sending a silent thank-you to the older man.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…R-Right…” Nathaniel says, voice strangled, nodding. “We will, Mr. Carracci.”</p><p> </p><p>Marc awkwardly jerks his head towards the door, and then starts to walk slowly, waiting for Nathaniel to fall in step by him.</p><p> </p><p>Marinette skids into room before they exit, blinking at them and beaming. “Oh, bye you two!” she chirps, trying for subtle as she sends Marc a thumbs up, and missing by a mile. Marc appreciates it, anyways.</p><p> </p><p>They exit the Art Club room, Marc following Nathaniel, who goes left.</p><p> </p><p>Marc shyly waves at Juleka and Rose, who are arm-in-arm and heading towards them while they go down the hall. Rose enthusiastically waves, while Juleka gives a silent nod.</p><p> </p><p>“I love your outfit today, Marc!” Rose compliments sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Rose,” he nods, slowing down slightly. “Um, see you in the clubroom in a bit, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh? What’re you…” the blonde girl looks between Marc and Nathaniel, her blue eyes gleaming. “Ohhhhhhh—”</p><p> </p><p>“W-We’re just getting something for Mr. Carracci,” Nathaniel sputters, waving a hand around. “S-See you in a bit!”</p><p> </p><p>“…Right,” Juleka drawls, sharing a knowing look with her girlfriend. “Have fun?”</p><p> </p><p>Rose giggles as Juleka pulls her towards the Art Club room. Marc’s face feels like it’s on fire.</p><p> </p><p>Does…Does <em>everyone</em> know…?!</p><p> </p><p>He runs a hand through his hair, to keep himself from burying his face in his hands and screaming.</p><p> </p><p>“S-Supply closet is over h-here,” Nathaniel mutters, walking past Marc, beet-red face ducked down.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s been internally screaming for the past five minutes straight, and he’s not liable to stop any time soon.</p><p> </p><p>He’s grateful that Mr. Carracci decided to give them an excuse to leave the room to have their talk, while also cursing the fact that he had to face his crush.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel fumbles with the doorknob of the supply closet, twisting it and opening it. It’s a surprisingly large closet, for all intents and purposes. Not a total shoebox that the janitor closets are. This one has multiple shelves and cupboards full of art supplies, while still having enough room for even three people to comfortably move around in.</p><p> </p><p>“So…” Marc starts, and Nathaniel can feel himself cringe.</p><p> </p><p>“S-So…” Nathaniel trails off, stiffly, as his eyes glance around the shelves. Erasers should be by the pencils, right…?</p><p> </p><p>Oh, who is he kidding. He doesn’t care about the erasers. Nathaniel glances over at Marc through his bangs. Marc’s biting his lip, a hand up to fiddle with his choker.</p><p> </p><p>“A l-lot of people have complimented me on my outfit today…” the other boy trails off, darting his eyes from Nathaniel to around the closet.</p><p> </p><p>“…They should,” Nathaniel rasps, throat dry as a desert. “I-It’s a g-good outfit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-It’s nice,” Marc says, quietly, toeing the ground with the pointed toes of his boots. Nathaniel’s eyes zero in on the motion, watching how the material moves with his leg like a perfectly fitted glove. “Getting complimented.”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel feels as taught as a bowstring, watching as the other boy seems to gather himself, straightening his spine. He way the writer’s standing looks confident and graceful, though maybe wearing heels plays a part in it.</p><p> </p><p>“Though I don’t think…” The boy takes a step forwards, and Nathaniel finds himself stepping back. “Anyone else—” Another step. “Has complimented me—” Step. “The way you did.”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s back hits a shelf unit. Marc’s right foot then lands by his hip, perched on one of said shelves. Nathaniel finds himself wheezing, eyes riveted on the boot. He slowly drags his gaze up the material, up the other’s thigh, up his torso, before meeting Marc’s face.</p><p> </p><p>Marc, who’s gaze is intent, but who’s obviously embarrassed by his actions. Who’s furrowing his brow and biting his plump, pink bottom lip, a deep blush settled on his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“S-So. Can I <em>please</em> get an explanation…?” the writer asks, voice wavering and small, contrasting with the way he’s standing, boxing Nathaniel in against the shelves and leaning in his space.</p><p> </p><p>It’s this that convinces Nathaniel to spill everything— the soft and shy demeanor that reminds him that no matter how utterly stunning he looks, Marc is still just as insecure as Nathaniel is.</p><p> </p><p>The redhead breathes out shakily, and then a stream of words starts tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m—Marc—I-I’ve got a crush on you!”</p><p> </p><p>Silence, as Marc stares back at him, gaping. But Nathaniel keeps going. “I-I’ve had a crush on you, for, for a while? A-And it took me forever to n-notice, but—but I did—the feelings w-were always there, just—I was t-too dumb to realize.”</p><p> </p><p>His crush still stares back, emerald eyes wide, gorgeous even while dumbstruck. He slowly lowers his leg to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“And then today—Y-You just. You l-look really good in those boots—and I mean, <em>really</em> really good— and I-I’m <em>so</em> fucking bi, okay, I’m sorry!” Nathaniel raises his hands to hide his burning face, mortified beyond belief. He can’t keep watching, knowing that the rejection will come soon.</p><p> </p><p>“Nathaniel…?” Marc asks weakly, but he’s not done yet.</p><p> </p><p>“A-And I know you don’t like me back—and th-that’s fine! You d-don’t have to! But I just. I just wanted y-you to know, I guess?” He gives a laugh, edging on hysterical, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes. “A-And if that weirds you out, y-you can pretend I didn’t say anything! H-Hell, if you don’t want to k-keep working with me on the comic, I <em>completely</em> get it—”</p><p> </p><p>“Nathaniel—”</p><p> </p><p>“B-But you should know that you’re amazing, and kind, and talented, and patient, and <em>gorgeous</em> on t-top of that—and it’s r-<em>really</em> not fair, honestly—like, who g-gave you the right to be a ten? And just. I know you could never like me, s-so, yeah. I-I’m sorry, I—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I like you too</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel stops in his torrent of word-vomit.</p><p> </p><p>Face burning hot against his hands, he carefully peeks between his fingers, peering shyly back at Marc, who’s face is beet-red.</p><p> </p><p>“I…I-I like you too,” Marc repeats. “I-I’ve had a c-c-crush on you f-for months now, and—and <em>I</em> think y-you’re too good for <em>me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“…What?” he asks weakly, slowly dropping his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-You’re hard-working, a-and talented, and l-loyal, and funny, and strong and cute and <em>sweet</em> and—and, y-yeah…” the other trails off, biting his lip again. Which was starting to lose more and more of its pink lip-gloss.</p><p> </p><p>“…<em>Oh</em>,” Nathaniel says, mind whirring, feeling like someone’s just punched him in the head. “Does…Does this mean we’re d-dating, or—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! Yes, I…” the other boy laughs, embarrassed, skittering his eyes away. “I-I’d like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“C-Cool,” the redhead stutters out, gulping loudly. He subtly tries to rub his sweaty hands against his jeans. “Does this uh…D-does this mean it won’t be weird if I tell you your boots m-make you look ten times hotter?”</p><p> </p><p>“N-No, I…” Marc giggles. “I think I like that.”</p><p> </p><p>The way Marc’s looking at him through his lashes, emerald eyes intent, makes his stomach do a bout of gymnastics. Nathaniel licks his lips, readying himself as he asks, a bit breathlessly, “D-Does this also mean I can ask if we can m-make out, or—”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Marc’s hands are on either side of him, gripping the shelves, boxing him in. His eyes are blown wide, only a ring of green surrounding black, his entire face flushed pink.</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t kiss me <em>right now</em>, I-I think I’ll go <em>insane</em>,” the writer breathes against Nathaniel’s lips as he leans in.</p><p> </p><p>“C-Can’t have that, c-can we?” the redhead manages to say, before he leans in the rest of the way, plump lips meeting his own.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marc apparently owes his thigh-high boots for helping his crush confess to him, and swiftly earning him a boyfriend. Maybe he should wear them more often, then…</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe not. Maybe he should wear them only for important occasions. Like looking hot for his new boyfriend…</p><p> </p><p>Marc ends up putting his boots to good use in that moment, as the redhead flips them around and presses Marc against the closet shelves, hooking one of his legs over Nathaniel’s hip while kissing him senseless. Nathaniel seems to be very much pleased by this development, if the keening noises and the way he grabs at Marc’s boot-covered thigh are anything to go by.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I must be d-dead,” Nathaniel—his boyfriend! Nath’s his <em>boyfriend</em>!— gasps hotly against his lips. “Th-this is heaven—”</p><p> </p><p>Marc doubles down on locking lips. After all, if Nathaniel still has enough breath to keep talking, he’s not doing his job correctly in kissing him breathless.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It takes them much longer to return to the clubroom than they’d initially thought. A suspiciously long time for just a chat and a run at finding erasers.</p><p> </p><p>When they both return to the Art Club, breaths uneven and distinctly rumpled, Alix is the first to notice. She throws her hands in the air in a cheer, double fist-pumping the air. “Fucking <em>finally</em>! I’ve been waiting for this for ten thousand years…!”</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the girls whoop and cheer and giggle. Marinette starts to clap, and the rest of the club claps as well. Even Mr. Carracci is clapping for them, looking warmly amused.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you boys should take an early day,” the man says lightly, looking between the new couple, and very politely not pointing out their ruffled just-barely-got-done-making-out-in-a-supply-closet state.</p><p> </p><p>“R-Right! Right,” Marc nods furiously, face a dark pink.</p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel clears his throat, his own face warm with a blush. “Th-thanks, Mister. Good plan.”</p><p> </p><p>The redhead leaves the package of erasers on his desk—which he’d barely remembered to swipe after his first make-out session ever (and hopefully, first of many more to come in the future).</p><p> </p><p>The two boys leave the club, hand-in-hand, cheeks and ears both bright red while Alix loudly wolf-whistles after them and the lesbians excitedly chant, “<em>One of us! One of us! One of us!</em>”</p><p>                                                                                                                                </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“S-So…”</p><p> </p><p>“So…”</p><p> </p><p>“…”</p><p> </p><p>“…”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you <em>really</em> want me to step on you with my boots, Nath—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Please never bring that up ever again</em>.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm continuing in my MarcNath propoganda, alongside my propoganda that Marc has two moms that he loves very much, Alix and Nath are childhood best friends, everyone wingmans the hell out of Marc and Nathaniel, and the Art Teacher Mr. Carracci is the best teacher.</p><p>Again, Nathaniel's "art rival" and total bitchboy is my new OC, based on the kid that shows up for 5 seconds for fighting Nathaniel in Zombizou. I named him Louis de Grammont. He's an asshole and I love him for it.</p><p>Juste and Kasper are OCs to help fill in Marc's class.<br/>Juste belongs to Sinnamon_Troll.<br/>Kasper belongs to bloodwebs.<br/>Ref of Kasper: https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/659753718971105286/675890812374220800/kasppy.png?width=376&amp;height=643</p><p>Now with added fanart by Christallized!<br/>https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/659753718971105286/755623292823666748/IMG_1039.JPG<br/>Art by me of Marc in The Outfit TM: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/659753718971105286/766096661524119602/20201014_183119.jpg</p><p>And finally-- is Nathaniel super thirsty? Is he into thigh-high boots? Or is he just really into Marc? All of the above? Comment with your theories below.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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